


Outcast

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-28
Updated: 2005-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-12 08:18:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7094020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the night before the final battle Wesley is alone, Spike comforts him.  Written for the Winter of Wes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outcast

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

Thanks to Kyrieane for the beta!

***

Wesley fought the images cascading through his mind. Outcast. Exiled. He'd been a pariah to them all, when he'd only wanted to save the people he cared about.

Illyria had left him hours ago, to ponder the new history she'd been granted when the orb had burst upon the floor. Like everything else she treated the information as if it were some kind of puzzle. Just another piece to fit into the conundrum that had been Fred.

Alone in the dark of his office, Wesley thought about her then. Fred. His Fred. And even that memory, the remembrance of her love for him, was lost to Wesley. For if she had been privy to the knowledge he now held, would she have loved him as she'd believed? He thought not.

Their whole lives were a sick fabrication created by an evil mage hired by the very people they'd sworn to fight to the death. And instead, they found themselves here, within the bowels of the very beast they wished to slay.

And all this for what? To save Connor. To save Angel's child once more.

A wave of anger washed over him. A rage so undeniably violent that he found himself clenching the arms of his chair for fear he would stand and give vent to the feelings warring inside of him. How dare Angel?! How dare he throw Wesley to the wolves, then turn around and sacrifice them all for the very same thing Wesley had attempted.

"Arrogant shit." Wesley spat the words.

"I take it you're talking about Peaches."

Wesley spun so fast he nearly tumbled from the chair. "Spike."

"Got it in one, Watcher. Surprised the Council let such an astute fellow slip from their grasp."

"What do you want?" Wesley ignored Spike's jab, too weary to bother.

"You look like you could use a pint, or two, mate."

"Well, thank you for such a tactful observation, Spike. But I'd very much prefer to be alone."

Instead of leaving, Spike took a seat in front of Wesley's desk and eyed him curiously. "What'd the ruddy ponce do this time?"

For a moment, Wesley toyed with the idea of telling Spike everything. Having another person to confide in, someone who would commiserate with Wesley's feelings of anger and disappointment; someone who would understand how horribly disillusioned Wesley had become.

But how to explain?

"He . . . he made a decision that affected us all, without bothering to consult any of us." And even now he protected them both, for the fewer people who knew of Connor's existence the safer he would be. "And when once I tried to do the very same thing, he . . . he - " Images bombarded Wesley. Images of a scowling Angel, a bright white pillow, and the pale fluorescence of a hospital room. Panic gripped him as he clawed at the suffocating material to no avail.

"Wesley! Wes!"

Then suddenly Spike was there, hovering above him, concern and confusion etched into the fine lines of his handsome face. Spike. The one person who hadn't been involved in the mess that was Wesley's life the year he'd lost Connor.

Somehow he'd slipped from his seat, and was now lying on the floor. "Outcast." His throat was hoarse, scratchy, almost as if he had really been choking. " Angel th-threw me out. E-everyone, h-hated me." Wesley turned away, unable to look even at Spike. "I just wanted to help." Nothing but a vampire's hearing could pick up on the words.

Spike pushed at a lock of hair that had fallen across Wesley's forehead. "I know you did, Wes. Never known a more loyal bugger." Spike shifted, wrapping his arms around Wesley to help him back into a sitting position. When he pulled back, he noticed Wesley staring intently, with a look of misplaced longing.

"Fred hated me, too." Wesley whispered, a sob in his throat. "She never loved me."

"That's not true, mate. I saw her. Saw the truth in her." 

Wesley's hysterical laughter caught Spike off guard. "You saw _the lie_! _Everything's_ a lie! Our lives are all one big lie!"

"What are you on about?" Spike was beginning to worry, wondering whether he should call Angel or one of the others better suited to comfort.

"They still hate me. They just don't know it."

Unable to answer such an incoherent sentence, Spike just waited.

" _You're_ the only one who wasn't there. Do you hate me, too, Spike? Maybe I was born to be disliked." Wesley said the thought aloud.

"Don't hate you, Wes."

"Wh-what do you think of me, then?"

Spike was quiet for a moment, just studying Wesley's face. "Think you're a bloody prince."

The ridiculous statement caught Wesley unawares, and he found himself laughing. And then Spike was kissing him, and the laughter turned into a startled moan.

"You're gorgeous when you laugh, luv."

"I . . . I - what?" Wesley sputtered, his heart racing.

"You’re gorgeous." Spike kissed him again, a quick peck on the lips. "And whatever you've done, luv, whatever you think's gotten you on everyone's shit list, well . . . don't make one bit of difference to me. I've done more than my share of wrong." 

Wesley took it all in; Spike's easy acceptance, the whisper of his hands over throat, arm, thigh, and the soft press of his lips against Wesley's stubbled cheek. And he felt a yearning so strong he ached from it. To be so unconditionally accepted, faults and all, had always been Wesley's fondest wish. And to have it given so freely, here, at this moment, was too much for him to bear.

"Spike," Wesley pulled at Spike's shirt, lifting it easily from the vampire's accommodating form.

"'M here, luv." Spike whispered between kisses, lifting Wesley from the floor and depositing him on the long black leather couch. By then they were both naked, hands and lips exploring eagerly.

Wesley cried out at the caustic burn of having Spike's fingers inside of him, the muscles of his arse stretching painfully. And once Spike pushed inside of him, the burn became a sharp sting as each powerful thrust of the vampire's hips spread Wesley's taxed muscles wider.

"Harder, Spike," Wesley begged. "Harder." _Make it hurt._

"No, luv." Instead Spike gentled his rhythm, pausing to kiss Wesley's forehead, and cup his cheek with a cool hand. "'S not a punishment."

Wesley blinked back the tears, wondering how William the Bloody could know him so well. Closing his eyes he lost himself to Spike's compassion, the vampire's soft touch. And soon he was crying out, clenching around Spike's hard length and kneading the globes of Spike's buttocks.

As Wesley shuddered and came, Spike bent forward to lick at the hollow of his throat. He arched his neck, thrusting his throbbing pulse point against one of Spike's sharp fangs and breaking the skin. He felt a small bead of blood form and heard Spike's low growl just before the vampire jerked and came inside of him.

"Thank you," Wesley whispered as Spike pulled out of him, then shifted in order to spoon Wesley from behind.

Spike's only answer was a tender kiss to Wesley's nape.

THE END.


End file.
